


Flower Child

by SleepyMinx



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thumbelina, Angst, Fairies, Fantasy, Fluff, Forest animals as people, M/M, Similar to canon era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:32:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepyMinx/pseuds/SleepyMinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love comes in all shapes and sizes, and in this case it’s about the size of your thumb. Eren is unlike most boys his age and being so different makes him feel like he doesn’t belong. Just when he finally get’s the courage to escape his comfort zone, a rude encounter with a fairy will lead him on an adventure so big he could get lost in. While he gains new experiences of self discovery, bravery, and love, how will he return to how it once was, if he can at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flower Child

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever, I hope you enjoy it. I haven't written anything as long as this except for essays so this is new for me. I've always wanted to do this so here I am. So yeah, Thumbelina, how many of you have seen the movie? It's a great piece of my childhood. Anyway, thank you for reading~

 

“What do you think we should name it?” Carla sits in a tall, leather armchair in the living room.

She’s been talking nonstop about baby names ever since she found out she was pregnant three months earlier. Since then, she’s had this barrier of happiness around her and whatever has come her way-be it a displeased customer or increase price on tomatoes-it always seems to bounce off of her.

A barrier of bliss and oblivion.

Grisha is standing in the dining room, across from the living room. He closes his briefcase, preparing to leave for work. The sun is mid high and casts a soft glow through their windows this morning.

His voice is hesitant but his face is hopeful. “Let’s not be hasty, sweetheart. We have plenty of time to come up with the perfect name.”

“Not with the way you plan things. If I leave it up to you, we won’t have a name decided by time our baby’s born. We could end up with a last minute name like... _Grisha_.” She points a smile at him. “How about Erica if it’s a girl and Eren if it’s a boy?”

Grisha takes a breath as if preparing to say something but it comes out as a sigh. “Alright, I’ll be back before dinner.”

After the door shuts, Carla rests in the chair for a moment more, listening to the world wake up around her. But the work waits and Carla being Carla doesn’t sit for long before she is up doing her house chores. And if you thought being pregnant would slow her down, than you were surely mistaken. Soon she is washing the dishes, sewing clothes, shopping for vegetables, watering the plants, and finally preparing for dinner.

She’s always been a busy body; worrying over whatever needs to be done. She remembers when she was young; she would go to the clinic with her mother who worked as midwife. She didn’t do much at first besides observe but later she assisted in fetching blankets, water, and whatever else was needed.

Carla always loved children, even as a child herself. She wanted follow her mother’s footsteps because the love she saw in a parent's face, the promising beginning in a babies eyes- those were the things Carla cherished.

It was while she was at the clinic that started it all. She was no older than 16, vivacious with a tenacity that stays true to present day. Like always, she helped her mother at the clinic but it was the new doctor’s assistant that interested her. Grisha was five years older than her and was in the midst of becoming a licensed physician. A shy glance, a couple of smiles, an evening out, can change everything if you let it. And she did. She gave up one dream for another; her wish to bring other people’s children into the world, to start a family and raise her own. A fair exchange, she thought.    

She thought.

By time she was cutting the vegetables for her stew, the sun was casting its last rays before sinking into the grassy hills. Pink seeped out of the clouds that blocked any incoming stars.

As she stands to put the cut vegetables in the pot, she sways.

Suddenly, it feels like her insides are being stretched out like a rubber band.

“Ugh…!” Panic. So much panic it could make you sick with how fast your heart beats.

The cutting board bangs against the wood floor, decorating it with carrots and peppers. She sits on the floor and her labored breathing is all she can hear. The floor is warm and slippery and momentarily, she realizes there’s blood.

 

____________________

 

When Grisha returns, he can tell something is very wrong. His house, usually so warm with life and the scent of food that constantly permeates the air was now cold. Cold and quiet except for the sound of the bubbling water from the kitchen. He bypasses the dining room, heading straight to the kitchen where Carla isn’t found. After cutting the fire off, he walks briskly into the living room.

“Carla!” He calls out and there is a beat of silence until he hears and soft response.

He sees movement from the backyard. Though it’s not much of a yard with how small it is, just big enough for the garden Carla manages. He looks through the glass panes of the door to see her standing. Her back is to him and even in the night he can see her brown hair tucked loosely in a ponytail.

Once outside, the air feels thick and heavy. He could have sworn there was a breeze when he was out before but there is nothing now. Seeing his wife standing in the garden is supposed to be a usual occurrence but it’s never felt so foreign.

“What are you doing out at this time?” He asks.

“Just some late gardening, checking the hydrangea.” She sounds like herself at least. The same syrupy tone.

And that’s when he sees the shovel she leans on, along with the newly dug up dirt. And although the whole situation is strange, this isn’t new.

“You know, these flowers look beautiful at night.” She says.

“Carla come inside, you need some rest.”

“They’ve grown so much...”

“ _Carla_ ,” His voice comes out more distressed than he wants. “Come inside.”

Her citrine eyes are glassy and red rimmed when she turns to him. Grisha holds her shoulder as she shuffles into the house. She sits in the same leather chair while he sits in the antique couch across her, both silent in the dim light. Grisha takes off his round glasses and folds them on his lap.

“Carla we can’t keep doing this.”

“One more time Grisha.” Her words are hollow and no longer have the pretense of normalcy.

“We agreed-” He tries to speak but is interrupted when the small, accent table is knocked down when she abruptly stands.

“I know what we agreed Grisha!” In the better light, he could now see how haggard she looked. Her gown haphazardly thrown on with her hair strung about in her face.

“ _We can’t give up_. If we just….keep trying.”

He was tired of seeing her like this; being brought up so high only to plunge hard into this pit. She dug herself deeper every time and he couldn’t handle it anymore. He wants to have a family and see his wife be happy but she grows weaker and frailer as time passes. He can’t watch her slowly die from the inside out.

“Carla this was the last time,” It was his job to take the best interest of his patients and see they live long lives. Whether as a doctor or husband, his judgment is the same and if their relationship wasn’t healthy for Carla, he would end it.

“I think it’s better if I leave.”

“Grisha…!” She stood shocked.

Before she could say anything else, he stood up and left the house. The last time she would see him was when he came for his belongings. She was left alone to pick up the pieces that were her mentality. No matter how strong willed a person can be, going through the anguish of trying your best only to realize that whatever you do and however hard you try, you can’t do the impossible-it’d be hard on anyone. It’s good to put your all into something but sometimes there is nothing left to give. You get used up like an old erasure until there is only a pink stub. And sometimes you’re left with nothing but an empty page. It’s times like these that you have to just _stop_ and begin to rewrite.

 


End file.
